L4D2: We'd Like To Tell You What Hell Is Like
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: Nick and Ellis are interviewed for the first time at Refugee Camp #265 shortly after they've been rescued. Oneshot. Tragedy/Drama. Nick/Ellis. Slash.


**Author's Note:** This is written interview style courtesy of some inspiration from Max Brooks, the wonderful author who penned World War Z and the awesome zombie survival guide book. This is also slightly alternate universe-esque, so if it doesn't completely fit with the canon, don't tell me I didn't warn you.

Oneshot. Tragedy/Drama. Nick/Ellis. Slash (?).

**Acknowledgements:** Thanks to Sean for reading this and having a quibble with some of my information. *hand wiggle* Son, don't you disagree with me or I'ma smack you. Another thank you to Amanda for reading this as well.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anyone mentioned, unfortunately.

**Summary: **Subjects 346 and 347 are interviewed for the first time at Refugee Camp #265. Last names are withheld for legal reasons, but are available upon request with substantial reasoning. If more questions arise, please do not harangue the subjects. Submit your questions to [J.R.W] and she will evaluate them and schedule another interview accordingly. Thank you for your cooperation.

**Ellis [Surname withheld] and Nick [Surname withheld] Interview #1**

**US Refugee Camp #265**

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Ellis [Surname withheld]

**Did you believe the warning signs?**

I actually didn' really see none. I was kept busy with work 'n' m' band tha' me an' some o' my friends played in. I also took care of my ma. I never watched the news, never went online 'cept to look at random shit, never listened t' the real chatty radio shows. My world was small.

**If you had been aware of the warning signs, would you have taken heed?**

Prob'ly not. I dunno. Hard to say, ain't it? How can you really be sure what you'd do? Sure, I always went over stupid scenarios in my head, usually while I was in the shower an' I 'magined what I'd do. Just in case. Never put any of 'em into practice. 'Cept the one 'bout askin' Susan t' the prom. I wanna say I would've, that I would've been smarter than the rest of 'em, those bastards who tried to run when there really was nowhere to go, but I can't say tha'. I'm a dumbass, so I prob'ly would've fled just like 'em. Gone with no supplies, no weapons, no nothin'. I ain't a real skeptical guy, so uh, to get back to what you asked –

**No, it's fine; please continue with what you were saying.**

Oh, uh, okay. Uh, oh yeah. I ain't someone who doesn't believe in nothin'. I'm easy t' persuade. Man, my buddy Keith, he would always come up to me with some stupid story and – hell – I'd fall for it, hook, line 'n' sinker. Aliens, ghosts, shit like tha', it didn' matter. I loved that stuff. Kept me int'rested in somethin' other than jus' my life. So, shit, if someone told me tha' it was the God damn zombie apocalypse 'n' shit, then hell yes I'd believe 'em. I'd've done somethin', not sat there 'n' waited for the authorities to give me instructions. See, I call m'self a dumbass, but those ones – those who waited. They were the ones who were really stupid. They didn' last long.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Nick [Surname withheld]

**Where were you when the infection hit Savannah?**

That phrase is really pissing me off. It didn't "hit." It wasn't a tsunami or some shit like that. It was an infection. Did anyone ever say that SARS "hit" Toronto? Or any other communicable disease? Hell no. The infection spread here slowly and then picked up speed, barreling through everyone's God damn life until it was just some mangled piece of flesh, screaming in the night for more victims.

_*SARS (Severe acute respiratory syndrome) is a respiratory disease in humans caused by the SARS coronavirus. In 2002, an outbreak occurred in China and spread to the rest of the world, causing mass hysteria and quarantined people and places in many other countries, including Canada. _

**Isn't that slightly melodramatic?**

Yeah perhaps, but hell, that's what it felt like. I can't even find words that are milder to get my feelings out. What's left inside my head after what I've been through, what we've been through as a species. If there was a God then the infection would've been my first clue that he wanted us gone or at least reduced dramatically in population size. How many people were killed and infected?

**In the United States?**

World-wide.

**There hasn't been any reliable research done yet.**

Ball park figure.

**It's been said that approximately three billion perished overall.**

**[He whistles]** Three billion. That's like half the world's population gone, and you don't see anything remotely melodramatic about it? Nothing over the top? 'Cause I do. That's a hell of a number.

**So back to what I originally asked: Were you in Savannah when the infection … became serious?**

Yeah. Yeah, I was. I was at home in my apartment when the news stations all cut out on TV. I watched the news every damn night. I was never worried. Not one bit.

**Why was that?**

I really … I don't know. I want to give a good answer for my stupidity. I want to tell you something profound, some pseudo psychology that'd would explain everyone's mass hysteria, how everyone seemed to ignore the facts that were staring them right in the face, like two inches away from their God damn noses. I can't even call it dumbassery. Is it stupid to trust your government? Stupid to hope that some unheard of infection won't wipe out half the Earth's population? I don't think so. It's stupid and paranoid to be prepared for when this type of shit hits the fan. An infection that causes people to turn into murderous, cannibalistic whack jobs? Who in their right mind could ever truly appreciate the gravity and the terror that would come along with a scenario such as that? It'd be enough to drive someone crazy. Hell, I saw enough bodies to know that the infection wasn't the only thing that killed people during that time. Suicide. Mass suicides. Families all dead together. Bullet holes through toddlers' foreheads. Nooses around pregnant women's necks. Who can – who could possibly – **[He pauses and takes a deep breath …] **There's no way someone could prepare for that. No one could believe that such a thing could happen in the USA. The powerhouse of the world. We all believed that the government had our back, but from what I've heard the government didn't even have an idea what the hell to do. I get it that they couldn't disclose such horrific details on TV, but shit, they didn't tell us a damn thing. The media made it out that we'd all be fine. I didn't have many friends to talk to about all this; the only things I'd heard were whispers when I grabbed some milk at the corner store. Insane, I said, but I was blind. Just like the rest of them. I should've seen, but I didn't.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Ellis [Surname withheld]

**What alerted you to the fact that there would be no one coming to your rescue?**

**[He takes off his hat and rubs at the brown bangs that are flatted down on his forehead] **Hm. Prob'ly – prob'ly when my ma took out her shotgun and got the extra ammo out o' pantry.

**Sorry?**

My ma gettin' out the gun 'n' ammo made me realize tha' the shit I'd been hearin' 'bout wasn't nothin' to scoff at.

**How old is your mother?**

She was sixty five when she died, tryin' to give me a head start ou' the door. Died the way she lived: tryin' to make a better life for me.

**I'm sorry for your loss.**

**[He's silent for a long while, staring at the table that's between us]** I don' really know how t' respond t' that. I dunno if I should thank the person for pretendin' to give a shit 'bout some old lady whose time was up or if I should jus' say tha' I'm sorry too. I get tha' it's polite. But, hell, honestly who has the empathy to truly understand another person's grief? I get tha' pretty much everyone lost someone, I get tha' we've all got the same unfillable holes in our hearts, but still. If the dead person ain't close to you, or you ain't close to someone who lost a loved one, there ain't no way tha' you really care. In the situation with the infection, if you heard tha' some guy's ma died and yours didn', all you'd think is at least yours is still alive. Ain't that how it usually goes? I know people who told me tha' all their loved ones died at the hands o' the infected, an' I'd sympathize 'n' shit, but at the back o' my mind, I'd be thankin' God tha' Nick wasn't taken from me. He's the only one left out o' the four of us, 'sides me. I don' tell people much 'bout Ro or Coach. I don' need the sympathy. I understand tha' everyone has their own problems, an' I don' need people's fake condolences. All I can think as I hear those words is tha' the one who's sayin' 'em is thinkin', "At least it wasn't someone I knew."

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Nick [Surname withheld]

**When the news stations went blank, what did you do?**

Nothing. I didn't panic. I didn't try to contact family members. I didn't rush out to my vehicle and get on the interstate. I kept doing whatever the hell I did before the shit hit the fan. I played some solitaire on my computer, made supper, read the whole evening, then went to bed. I didn't have much money on me at that time, so I wasn't really going out anywhere without coming up with another, ah, venture. Sure, I heard screams outside, along with what sounded like gun shots, but I didn't heed it. The TV had said nothing serious was going on. For some reason – some fucking reason, I believed them. God.

**When did you realize that the propaganda the media had been feeding you was false?**

The next day when I left my apartment to buy some groceries. The elevator in the building wasn't working. The lights in the hallway were flickering ominously. The whole thing reeked of a shitty B grade horror movie, and I was its protagonist. Taking the stairs made me acutely aware that I was living a fallacy. On the fourth floor I came across my first infected. I was lucky she was small, no taller than five feet. Just a young girl. A bloodthirsty, mad little girl.

**What did you do?**

I ran. I'm not going to lie and say I took care of her like someone who knew what they were doing. I don't think I've ever gone up the stairs faster than that day. Three floors in what felt like three seconds flat. Once I'd gotten back to my apartment, I locked the door, sunk to the floor, and quite possibly shit my pants. After I regained my senses, I changed and started to make plans.

**Does that explain the suit you were found in?**

Nope, that was a rational decision.

**Why?**

I wanted my nickname of Colonel Sanders to pick up steam.

**Did it?**

Only by people I don't care to mention.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Ellis [Surname withheld]

**Tell me about the people you came across during your journey to salvation.**

**[He chuckles]** Sounds like I rode a cycle 'cross country to figger out who I was or somethin'. Well, I came 'cross Coach an' Rochelle in some random back alley in Savannah. Coach was a real special guy. He was funny as hell an' always cared 'bout what I had t' say. He was the leader o' the group for sure. He was the oldest 'n' we had no problem lettin' him make the decisions.

Rochelle was a wonderfully friendly gal. I've never met no one like her 'fore. When I was gettin' yelled at for shit I never done, like nearly shootin' someone, she'd say somethin' kind. I 'member this one time, we were in some shitty safe house and Nick was bellowin' at me like it was the end of the world, sayin' that I'd put a bullet hole in his suit. Ro, she jus' walked up to him, planted herself right up next to his face, and said, dead serious, "At least he can hit somethin'," and tha' shut Nick up real fast. **[He smiles] **Yeah, she was somethin' else. Didn' let no one boss her 'round, but she wasn' stuck up or nothin'. Smart gal. She treated us all diff'rent. She gave Coach all her respect, all her sass to Nick, and all her understandin' to me. She'd – she'd stay up with me some nights … jus' lettin' me cry. I ain't a pussy for sayin' that I cried. I was only twenty-three God damn years old, I'd lost both m' ma and m' best friend an' I – I wasn' sure how I was gonna get on with m' life. Ro was one of the only ones who saw tha' part of me. I know I was all gung ho durin' the day, 'cited to be shootin' shit and livin' what could be called any gamer's fantasy, but hell – I bet there ain't anyone out there who didn' suffer, no matter how 'citing it was or – or fun it might've been to go 'round with some pretty awesome weapons. We all lost people. We also prob'ly lost a bit o' our humanity too. Some o' the things I'd done, I dunno if I could really … talk to anyone 'cept those who'd been there.

**What about the other group of survivors?**

They were a good group o' folks. I didn' really get t' know any of 'em, but they wanted what we wanted, what I wanted. They jus' wanted t' survive. I know they lost a man shortly 'fore we met 'em, and by tha' time we'd lost Ro an' I could understand what they were goin' through. Louis and Francis were all right guys, and Zoey … she was some woman. I guess I was smitten with her right from the get go. She was a beautiful lady. Er, is. Is a beautiful lady. Uh, do y'know if she's still 'live?

**I have no information on her.**

Oh. Damn. I'm sure she's still livin', though. I could tell jus' by lookin' tha' there ain't nothin' that could keep her down.

**And how did you meet Nick?**

I dunno what he's told you, but I'm gonna say this and it's the damn truth: I saved his ass right from the beginnin'. We found him shit outta luck with his back to some storefront, wavin' an axe around with at least eight infected tryin' to kill him. Ro and Coach wanted to assess the situation, sayin' they didn' want to go runnin' out into the street without knowin' if it was safe. If m' memory serves me right, I said, "Fuck that" and pulled my machete out from a makeshift holder while runnin' as fast as I could towards the person tha' would … well … become the biggest part o' my life t' date.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Nick [Surname withheld]

**When did you first experience the loss of one of your group?**

We lost Rochelle while we tried to gas up that Jimmy Gibbs Jr. car at the mall. We didn't know where she'd gone. We waited as long as possible, but there was a shit ton of infected crashing upon us, along with at least one Tank, and we couldn't wait.

**Was it possible that she wasn't dead?**

Yes.

**So you might have condemned a fellow survivor to death?**

I'm not one of those whiny little bitches who cry out that they made a mistake, that they're sorry their actions might have killed someone else.

**Are you saying you didn't care?**

Sure I cared. Her death put the group in greater risk.

**Perhaps those "whiny little bitches" have enough of a conscience to feel guilt.**

**[He laughs]** You can make me out to be a monster, a callous, cruel, hard-hearted bastard that couldn't care less about anyone except himself. I'm not scared of having a reputation such as that. My only concern would be that it's not true. I lived to survive, just like Coach and Ellis and even Rochelle. She wouldn't have stuck her neck out more than she needed to for me or anyone else. We all knew that we'd fight for each other so long as it didn't put the group in jeopardy. That was what was important. The more people who survived, the better the overall chances of living. We weren't heroes or romantics. We knew the risks of wandering off by ourselves, and that's what Rochelle did. Perhaps she got Smokered and was pulled away and couldn't free herself. Nonetheless I'd be damned if she wasn't telepathically telling us to leave her there.

**Weren't you saved by one such "hero" who risked the group's security for you?**

Yes, but Ellis is and always will be a dumbass. He also saw me in peril, whereas we couldn't see Rochelle in danger anywhere we looked. We had little time to search for her before we had to get the hell out or we were all going to be fucked.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Ellis [Surname withheld]

**When you say he's the biggest part of your life …**

I mean jus' tha'. Together we'd gone through more than I can say. He's my best friend, an' he'll never say it but I'm his too. We were each other's lifelines durin' those times. When we … when we lost Coach, we both sort of … lost it.

**Lost it?**

I'm sorry, I'm tryin' t' come up with somethin' better t' explain what I mean, but I jus' … can't. I guess the best I can do is say tha' it was a lot like bein' thrown into a pitch-black, never-endin' maze. 'Cept you were always scared. Scared of leavin' the safe house, scared of stayin'. Scared of runnin' out of water or food or ammo. Scared t' look over your shoulder in case there's somethin' there, and scared not to. Too afraid t' fall asleep, but so damn tired tha' y'can't stay awake. We damn near lost our minds. Started contemplatin' a double suicide since we figgered we'd never make it. Gettin' through New Orleans seemed like it – like it was jus' too far away. Like we didn' have the energy. Sometimes we couldn't even get to our feet an' we had to spend an extra day in the safe house.

There – there was this one time, this one safe house within New Orleans where – where it got real bad. If there was a darkest moment, then that'd be it. Nick an' I were both exhausted from runnin', dehydrated, sickly, starvin'. We barely made it in 'fore another wave of 'em showered down 'pon the safe house door. God, I – I thought the door was jus' gonna collapse, but we weathered the storm 'n' steadily disposed of 'em with what little ammo we had left over from our run. After it'd quieted down some, I 'member standin' there by the door and glancin' down at m' feet. I'd lost one of my God damn shoes. Somehow that pushed me over the edge. I dunno how, but the next thing I knew, I had the muzzle of m' pistol in my mouth and I could barely see 'cause of the torrent o' tears rushin' down m' face.

It happened in, like, a second I guess. Nick didn't even know what t' do. One second I was standin' there all fine 'n' dandy, next thing he knows is I'm bawlin' m' eyes out and am about to decorate the cement walls with m' brains.

From what I could see 'n' hear, I'd never heard Nick so scared. His voice shook. He was tremblin' like a leaf durin' a hurricane. He kept askin' me what was wrong, pleadin' with me to put the gun down. He didn' know the damn thing was out of ammo. He didn' know I'd unleashed my last magazine into a zombie's face jus' minutes ago. All he could see was me wrappin' my finger 'round the trigger.

I squeezed it, an' all I could hear was Nick's scream reverberatin' off the walls. I don' think he's forgiven me for tha' yet. I don't think he ever will. Maybe I jus' needed t' – t' let those feelings out, y'know? I needed t' cry. I needed an outlet for the pain that was wellin' up inside me. I'd lost my ma, my best friend, and then Ro and Coach.

After Nick realized I was outta ammo – and tha' I'd known tha' even 'fore I pulled the trigger, he punched me square in th' jaw. He was so fuckin' pissed. He started t' cry, callin' me all sorts o' names I'd never even heard 'fore. Thing is, I needed t' hear him say all tha' shit. I needed t' know he gave a damn 'bout me. I needed somethin' – somethin' t' live for. He became tha'. He may never forgive me, and I – I can never thank him 'nough. And I don' think he knows why.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Nick [Surname withheld]

**How did Coach die?**

The gauntlet in New Orleans did him in. Too many burgers, too many helicopters made of chocolate –

**Sorry?**

Uh, never mind. Thing is, he had a heart attack I think. I'm not sure. He was running behind Ellis and I, and then he was on the ground with no infected around him. I told Ellis to keep going, to sprint the little bit to the ladder to get onto the platform to turn off the damn alarm while I turned on my heel and went back to Coach. I checked for a pulse and found none. His eyes were open and staring, glossed over. Y'know … it's the eyes. The eyes tell you immediately if someone's dead. The light's gone. That inner, beautiful light that denotes life is just … gone. Snuffed out by a larger force than us tiny humans. The energy, the warmth of Coach's eyes was no longer there. It was worse than looking at a doll's eyes, 'cause at least you know a doll's eyes shouldn't be anything except lifeless. With Coach, with anyone, it's different. They used to be alive. They used to think, laugh, smile, yell, love, hate. They used to have flaws and quirks. And once they expire, it's all gone. Nothing of their former selves is left. That delicate thread that tethers all of us to the earth is snipped with such ease, and with nothing holding us down, we just … continue on, moved along by our own mortality. It's crazy. Coach had been fine sprinting all those other times. Why in the gauntlet? Why at that exact spot? Why had it been his time? Why not mine or Ellis'?

**Would it have been a different volley of emotions if it had been Ellis' death instead of Coach's?**

**[He's silent]**

**Nick?**

A friend dead is a friend dead, and seriously, what kind of an unfair question is that? I respected Coach more than I did my old man. Coach cared about all of us. He put himself below the rest of us. He tried to keep our spirits up and never voiced his own complaints. Extra food or water? He'd give it to us. Maybe he knew he wouldn't be making it out alive, or maybe he was just that kind of guy. I believe the latter. The world lost a stand-up guy when Coach died. Yes, there would have been different emotions at play if Ellis had died, but the point is that Coach died. A close friend, someone I looked up to. Someone I could joke around with without getting called an asshole. If you expect me to share my thoughts on what losing Ellis would feel like … well, that isn't happening.

**Why?**

Do you honestly need to ask?

**Yes.**

People – especially fundamental Christians – are still set in their ways. The only way those zealots would change is if God himself came down and told them to stop being such close-minded bigots. It'll take more than a world-wide epidemic where three billion die people for those people to become more accepting of those who are left. Even if the infected only went for homophobes, they'd be too ignorant to see why such nice Christians and Catholics and Muslims and Jews would be targeted.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Ellis [Surname withheld]

**Once you're free to leave this refugee camp, where will you go?**

It's funny … 'cause when I was livin' day by day an' just prayin' to survive, I never thought of what migh' happen after I was rescued. I didn' know if there would be an after. Gettin' here, bein' rescued – tha' was all tha' occupied my wakin' mind. But since you've asked … I wouldn't mind goin' back t' Savannah. I'd like t' maybe … go visit Keith's family, if anyone's left o' course. Once I'd settled down a bit, I could write a book 'bout all the stuff Keith had done. That'd be one hell of a book, but it'd be pretty long. After tha', well, hell. I ain't got no clue. I jus' wanna continue livin'. It's more than amazin', bein' able t' shower 'n' sleep in an actual bed 'n' not have t' carry a gun.

**Do you think you'll be able to move on?**

Definitely. I ain't got no doubts 'bout tha'. I'm a resilient bastard. It takes a lot t' break me down, and now tha' I know m' breakin' point, I'll be able t' keep m'self safe from a mental breakdown. I'm now twenty-four years old 'n' since I survived the worst the world can throw at me, I know I'll be able t' survive anything.

* * *

><p><strong>US Refugee Camp #265<strong>

**Interviewer: **J.R.W, temporary military interviewer

**Interviewee: **Nick [Surname withheld]

**Once you're free to leave, where will you go?**

To be honest, I was thinking Canada. The infection was taken care of quicker up there and since the country had so few people living within its borders, practically their whole population is gone. **[He smiles] **And 'sides, I've always wanted to visit our neighbor to the north. Once the oil sands start up again, I might go work on the rigs. I don't really feel like being thrown back into prison any time soon so that means no more con work, especially since I heard that the jails were hit worst by the infection. Apparently the inmates were trapped in there, not allowed to decide their own fate. It's pretty damn awful what happened to those people, convicts or not. They were still human beings.

**Do you think you'll be able to move on?**

Moving on from something like this … takes a strong person. This person needs to be tough as nails, emotionally unattached to reality, and have a will to survive that equals none on earth. Me? I'm struggling daily. It's fucking hard. I don't want to call myself traumatized, but hell – sometimes there's no other way to say it. I'm scarred. These are mental wounds that won't heal. I'm not that person who has no ties to the world. I used to be. I once was someone who didn't give a shit about anyone but me, but now I can't say that. I can't even look back at my old life. If my old life and my new life were those pictures where you tried to spot the differences, then both pictures would be completely dissimilar in every single way. There is absolutely no way I could even think about going back to that. The path I've travelled has taken me too far.

I don't think I can move on. How can anyone? All we've seen – all we've had to do … I want to call it impossible, but there'll be people who can do it. Those who can forget what it's like to have to drag themselves on, step after step. The feeling of unshakable panic will fade for some, but for me? Shit, I still can't sleep. I'm not used to the bed. I'm not used to the safety. I don't think I ever will be. I'm still running on empty. I'm so mentally exhausted – it's fucking insane. Someday maybe the raw emotions will start to become desensitized, but damned if I know when that day will come. I'm still constantly checking over my shoulder, still listening for any sounds out of the norm. I'm still trying to survive. How can I go back to a life where I didn't need to fear for my safety? Where the most horrifying thing I'd had to face was the slammer? I don't feel secure without a weapon on me. Do you think the average American would take kindly to me carrying around an axe or a shotgun? The average American, he'll do just fine. The everyday men and women of this country always bounce back. It's a minority of people who don't. Without even trying to forget, I know I'll be one of them. I don't think those people ever adjust. And when people don't adjust, they either end up in an asylum somewhere or dead because of a standoff with the police or by their own hand. Like I said, I don't feel like committing any more crimes, so by default … well, I guess I'll have to see where this life takes me. I've come too far to die now.

"_How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand ... there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold." –Frodo Baggins, Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King_


End file.
